


Desecrate You

by DesdemonaKaylose, neveralarch



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Library, Demon Sex, F/F, Multi, Possessive Sex, Public Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, no one dies or is seriously traumatized despite everything, we're here to have fun! but watch out!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: When Pharma took this job, she was excited. She was finally going to be head librarian. It didn’t matter that the university was in the middle of nowhere, that its library was small, or that the last two librarians had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving the books hideously disorganized. What was important was that she was here to make everything better than it ever had been.(Demon Tarn seduces librarian Pharma and does his level best to get Ratchet too. The R-rated B-movie horror fic the world's been clamoring for!)
Relationships: Ambulon/First Aid (Transformers), Pharma/Ratchet (Transformers), Pharma/Ratchet/Tarn (Transformers), Pharma/Tarn
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	Desecrate You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chokopoppo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokopoppo/gifts), [HollowpointHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowpointHeart/gifts).



> Plotted in chat with Choko, Zeph, and Dez, written by Nev and Dez, and entirely motivated by being horny and stuck in quarantine. Title obviously from Closer, but like [this specific cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItosTQ4PVlI).
> 
> This fic contains deeply fucked-up and possessive relationship dynamics, demonic possession/suggestion, dubcon, and non-con, including a man-shaped demon threatening a lesbian while having sex. Please let us know if you would like any info about this fic before reading - the content is definitely in line with a light porny horror movie but the implications could be much darker.

Ratchet clicks the video because it was auto-recomended, and because First Aid is always dropping hopeful hints that he wants her to watch his show when he’s supposed to be grading papers, and because something about the title (“This is Definitely a Hoax! None of this is Real! Short Cut Footage Episode”) makes her wonder why the hell someone who runs a Ghost Hunting youtube channel would bill their own hard work as a hoax right out of the bag.

It’s kind of odd, actually. First Aid’s been her TA for three semesters of Library Science 101 now, and she’s never felt tempted to watch his weird supernatural bullshit show before. The recommendation comes from a completely different type of video, something about how to build your own mini air conditioner. It seems like fate or something, if she believed in fate.

But mostly, she clicks it because it’s, you know,  _ there,  _ just like the mini air conditioner and the cat videos and the teenagers falling off their skateboards. Brainless entertainment. Since she took over as head of the university’s medical library, she’s been as exhausted as she’s been unable to sleep, and she just wants to turn her thoughts off. She lives alone now, there’s nothing to distract her from herself except youtube and gin.

The camera work is steady, which is a relief, because jitter cam and phone-in-hand recordings always give her a nasty headache. They have a little animated intro, which Ratchet has to admit is cute—there’s the tiny animation of First Aid in his action pose, there’s the more sedate animation of his buddy Ambulon at his side, white bedsheet ghosts whirl and wail across the screen. There’s a voiceover explaining that certain details have been omitted or obscured to prevent freaks and weirdos from tracking down their episode star.

The building in the video has the unmistakable style of an east-coast college campus—too historic to replace, too expensive to maintain. Probably riddled with black mold. Ratchet tunes the audio out for a while as the boys do a tour of the place, giving a bit of history, setting the scene. She scrolls through the comments section, which is pretty raunchy for a video by a couple of  _ ghost nerds, _ and spends a second laughing at the comment by WalktheNightBeat which reads “Hey, guys… I think this might not be a hoax.” There’s one born every minute.

It’s the librarian that makes Ratchet reluctantly scroll back up. Her voice sounds almost too familiar. And sometimes you do hear people who sound alike, because there’s only so many variations on a human larynx, and everyone basically has the same accent these days anyway, but… this is familiar. And it seems like it’s been pitched up in post, some kind of half-assed attempt to disguise it. 

“You really shouldn’t be here after hours,” the librarian tells the boys. When they ask her why, she says, “Because it’s  _ closed,  _ kid, do you know how libraries work?”

Ambulon asks her why the lights were on last night, then, long after closing. Why she left so late.

It’s just a view of her hands shoving books into shelves, but there’s a hesitation even there that seems pretty telling. “Look, I just had a late stay visitor, okay? He’s hard to shake. Things go better around here if I let him do what he wants. It’s like that in libraries sometimes.”

There’s something about her. They won’t show her face, but in one shot she’s sucking on a pen as the boys ask her about the weird accidents that befell her predecessors, and the camera cuts off just above her Camaro-red lips. Her tongue cradles the cap of that fountain pen for a brief, unbelievable second, before she extracts it in favor of a disinterested answer.

There is, predictably, an Incident in the library. 

Ratchet watches, bemused and somewhat taken aback, as the whole episode slides into 80’s B horror territory in full screaming satanic panic glory. The lights flicker, blood-red sigils appear on the walls, and the librarian is somehow rising into the air, spread-eagled and back arching. Belatedly Ratchet’s starting to see what’s up with the raunchy comments section. Why First Aid and Ambulon went to all the extra effort to disguise the librarian’s voice and mark this as a hoax. If this was real, it’d be really fucked up.

The poor rattled librarian is shrieking and moaning, her legs are shaking, and Ratchet is about to close out of the window and write First Aid a very disappointed text message when the librarian’s shirt bursts open. She’s wearing a lacy red push up bra. 

Ratchet  _ knows  _ that bra. 

Yeah, okay, it’s probably Victoria’s Secret and a million women in America all bought it during the summer event sale. But there’s also a beauty mark on the slight swell of the librarian’s right breast. She’d know that goddamn beauty mark anywhere.

\---

_ Before... _

When Pharma took this job, she was excited.  _ She  _ was finally going to be head librarian. It didn’t matter that the university was in the middle of nowhere, that its library was small, or that the last two librarians had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving the books hideously disorganized. What was important was that she was here to make everything better than it ever had been. 

She was going to show Ratchet she didn’t need her approval, or her compliments, or any of the other things Ratchet had never given her anyway. Pharma was handling the break up just fine!

Three weeks later, Pharma’s still handling the break up with perfect poise. She only cries in her bathroom after midnight, when crying doesn’t count anymore, and she only called Ratchet two or three times this week. That doesn’t count either, Ratchet never picks up.

But Pharma’s not so sure about the job.

The last librarians were almost criminally negligent—Pharma keeps finding books scattered in the strangest places, wedged under desks, half-falling out of the air conditioning vents. There are all these weird brown stains on the walls too. She tries calling maintenance, but they never show up. In the end, Pharma spends her lunch breaks attacking the stains with a scrub brush and a bucket of water. It’s odd, whatever this stain is, it runs red when it gets wet.

Besides the organization and the stains problems, Pharma keeps getting this weird feeling, as she moves between the stacks. Like someone’s watching her. But there isn’t, is there? She’s almost always alone—there’s no coffee shop in this old library, or wifi, or convenient study table with lots of outlets. Everyone does their research online. No one wants the old medical journals or the antiquated reference books. There’s maybe one or two visitors a day, and the rest of the time it’s just her and the building.

And yet, the back of her neck still prickles.

\---

Sometimes she thinks she hears people talking, somewhere in the shelves. There’s never anyone there. It must just be a weird old building noise, this place is ancient.

Pharma wishes she had someone to talk to. Someone to distract her. An assistant librarian, a student worker, a cleaner. But instead it’s just her, eating lunch at the circulation desk just in case somebody does decide to come in.

Ratchet’s still not answering her calls. Pharma starts scrolling through the photos on her phone instead. Ratchet, smiling at her as she pours them more beer from the pitcher. Ratchet, fallen asleep on her desk with her curly red hair spilling out of its ponytail and over her face. Ratchet, working. Ratchet, working. Ratchet, working.

Pharma flicks past the photos, looking for another one where Ratchet looks  _ happy,  _ is looking at  _ her,  _ but it’s almost all sneaky candid photos taken while Ratchet was trying to work. Ratchet got annoyed when she saw Pharma taking them. She thought it was creepy. Creepy? Creepy that Pharma wanted some part of her girlfriend to enjoy, when Ratchet was working at being head librarian eighteen hours a day?

Pharma pauses on another photo of Ratchet asleep, this one in their shared bed. Ratchet’s shirt is riding up, exposing a pale strip of skin on her belly.

Pharma zooms in a little.

It’s odd, she feels like she’s being watched again. Almost like someone’s hovering over her shoulder.

\---

The temperature in the library is all over the place, as you’d expect from an old building. It’s odd, Pharma never noticed before how hard her nipples get when she’s chilly. They keep rubbing against the inside of her bra as she shelves, a little unexpected thread of arousal shivering over her skin. At the same time, she keeps getting these warm drafts blowing up her skirt. Warm and somehow… damp. Like someone breathing. When she gets home in the evenings she always has to change her underwear. It’s almost soaking wet from the combination of warm humidity and the slick evidence of her arousal.

It’s annoying. Her shitty little apartment doesn’t have a laundry in the building, and the university town (if six apartment buildings, a liquor store, and a bad Chinese restaurant can be called a town) doesn’t have one either. She’s not driving to the laundromat the next town over twice a week just to wash panties. She  _ has  _ to get someone in from maintenance to fix whatever the problem is. They can’t ignore her calls forever.

In the meantime, Pharma picks the most efficient solution: she stops wearing underwear at work.

\---

Pharma stays late at work most days. She doesn’t have anything to do in her apartment—she doesn’t have any friends, no one to go home to. Anyway, there’s plenty of work to do at the library.

The lights keep flickering out, though. It’s not obvious during the day, when light streams in through the stained glass windows. At night, though… At night it’s a little spooky. Old lightbulbs, probably, or bad wiring. Another maintenance item to bring up before the whole library burns down. 

Pharma’s in the anatomy section when the lights go out and stay out for five long minutes. In the pitch darkness of the library, she feels someone grab her ass and squeeze.

There’s no one there when the lights come back on. But when Pharma gets home, she can see the fingermarks in the mirror.

\---

The sensation of being watched is constant. She’s finding new bruises on her breasts and ass every day.

But it’s when it escalates to a phantom sensation of being  _ fingered  _ that Pharma finally snaps. She pulls her modest pencil skirt up, right there in the stacks, and watches as her pussy spreads around  _ nothing.  _ It feels like two, maybe three fingers, curled to rub at her g-spot and then thrusting so that she jolts at every press against her pussy walls. 

She’s hallucinating. Ratchet was right, she’s not stable. She’s- fuck, she’s going to come, right here amongst the oncology textbooks.

“What,” she breathes, watching as her labia stretch obscenely wide, “what’s happening to me?”

And suddenly there’s a person between her legs. Or- not a person. A roiling mass of smoke, with only the hint of a face, the suggestion of limbs. But its hand is fully defined, four thick fingers pounding into her. Pharma feels her knees start to go, and then there’s a band of smoke around her waist, holding her in place so that she can’t collapse. Her stomach is coiling tight. It’s so hard to think.

_ So responsive. So desperate. I’d almost think you want this. _

“Who are you?” asks Pharma.

_ You can call me Tarn. _

The hand pulls out so just the tips of the fingers are still in Pharma’s body. Then it tucks the thumb into the palm, and plunges all the way into Pharma again.

\---

Tarn takes her whenever it likes. Pharma can feel it, fingers, a mouth, a cock, in the stacks, at the circulation desk, in the break room. Sometimes there’s a student or a professor in the library, and Pharma has to bite her lip to keep from moaning out loud. Once, she has to look up articles on modern splinting techniques while she can feel Tarn sucking on her clit. She bites her lip to keep herself from moaning and tells old Professor Kup that she’s fine, just a headache. Tarn’s already pushing its cock in her when Professor Kup walks away.

She fucking loves it.

She’d always had this fantasy about Ratchet bending her over and  _ using  _ her, wherever, whenever she liked. Right in the middle of their library. Right in front of the patrons. Ratchet would be so hungry for her body that she couldn’t wait until they got home, she’d have to fuck her now.

Of course, Ratchet didn’t really want Pharma that badly. Had hardly wanted her at all, in the end. But it was a nice fantasy.

And now, Pharma is living the dream.

\---

Pharma hardly goes home, now. Everything she wants is in the library. 

_ You’re still holding back. _

Tarn sounds a little annoyed. The feeling of being fucked intensifies, and Pharma slumps forward over the circulation desk.

_ Don’t you want to belong to me? _

“Yes,” moans Pharma. “Yes, yes!”

_ Then stop holding back. Give me your essence. Give me your everything. Stop thinking and give in. _

“I am!”

But even as Pharma says it, she gets a flash of that smile, those freckles, that wild red hair spilling out of its ponytail...

_ Surrender to me! _

Tarn’s voice roars, filling Pharma’s mind for a moment before it quiets.

_ Be mine, and I can get you anything, anyone you want. To belong to you, forever. Like you will belong to me. _

Her heart is so loud in her ears. “Anyone?”

\---

Pharma can hear people talking, somewhere in the shelves. Real people, this time.

They don’t belong here.

Her knees wobble a little as she walks to confront them. Tarn’s been teasing her all day, licking at her vulva and teasing at her clit for a few minutes before practically disappearing. Pharma wants so badly to come.

It’s a short black guy with messy dreads and a backwards red baseball cap, and a tall skinny Arab-American guy who keeps picking at his skin like he’s nervous. They look like a comedy routine waiting to happen. Pharma tries to shoo them.

“We’re filming a documentary,” says the short guy. “I’m First Aid, that’s Ambulon, and we’re really interested in the mysterious goings-on of this library!”

Ambulon lifts his phone a little, the camera staring right into Pharma’s eyes. She frowns at it.

“Okay, great,” she says. “But you really shouldn’t be here after hours.”

“Why not?” asks First Aid. “Does something  _ happen  _ at night?”

“Yeah, the library stops accepting visitors,” says Pharma. “Because it’s  _ closed,  _ kid. Do you know how libraries work?” 

She can feel Tarn chuckle against her skin.

_ Soon,  _ he whispers, where only she can hear him.  _ Soon you’ll belong to me. _

\---

_ Later... _

First Aid wouldn’t give Ratchet any details about the video’s location or who the star was. Gotta protect her privacy, yadda yadda yadda. And Ratchet never found out where Pharma’s new job was before she left the city. But she knows that First Aid did his video somewhere in the area, because he filmed it on a weeknight. It only takes a little sleuthing before she finds a small private university in the boonies that fits the bill. The next weekend, she parks her car in the guest lot and walks out onto the hill that overlooks the library.

The building looks even more old and rundown in real life than it did in the video. Nothing like the shiny modern library at Iacon U, all full of glass and metal. This place looks like it maybe used to be a church, with its delicate stone carvings and high arched ceiling. The stone is dirty and blackened now, and there’s ivy growing over the windows. Ratchet isn’t surprised when she pushes one of the heavy double doors open and finds that the lights inside are flickering and dim.

Pharma  _ is _ there. Ratchet’s breath catches in her throat, because even though she drove all the way out to the middle of nowhere for this, she’d still been half-convinced that it would be a waste of time, a mistaken identity, a dumb hoax. But that’s Pharma, sitting behind the circulation desk, reading a book.

It’s a big library, even if it is old. It takes a while for Ratchet to get over there. And the whole time she’s thinking about what she’s going to say, what on  _ Earth _ is her opening line here?

She stops right in front of the desk, and before she can even say anything, Pharma’s looking up at her, eyes glimmering fever bright behind her glasses.

_ “Ratchet,”  _ she breathes. “You  _ came.” _

“Uhh,” says Ratchet. “Yeah?”

Pharma looks… disheveled is a nice word for it. Her hair is escaping from her bun in ragged little shreds, and her lipstick is smeared across her mouth. Her blouse is missing a couple buttons, leaving it open so far that Ratchet can almost see Pharma’s nipples. She’s not wearing a bra.

Ratchet realizes she’s staring at her ex-girlfriend’s chest, and drags her eyes back up to Pharma’s face.

Oh fuck, she’s doing that pen sucking thing.

Pharma pulls the pen out of her mouth with a little wet pop. “Is there a conference or something? Or did you come to see me?”

“I—” Ratchet  _ really  _ hadn’t thought this through. “I came to check on you.”

_ “Oh.”  _ Pharma does a little wiggle, and leans forward over the desk. Yeah, Ratchet can see all the way down that blouse. There’s a livid bite mark on Pharma’s left breast.

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ says Pharma, and Ratchet jerks her eyes up again. “I mean, I’ve been lonely, I’ve  _ missed _ you, but Tarn’s been helping me stay occupied.”

“Occupied, huh?” Well, it’s Pharma’s business who she wants to rebound with, but Ratchet’s still feeling uneasy. There’s something wrong about this. She spent five years living with Pharma, and she never saw Pharma out in the world without her makeup perfect, her hair practically glued into place. The Pharma in front of her belongs in a bedroom at three am, not at her workplace in the middle of the day. “Who’s Tarn?”

Pharma waves a hand, dismissive. “He’s just someone from the library. I want to talk about  _ you,  _ Ratchet, how are  _ you?” _

“I’m fine,” says Ratchet. “Does Tarn work here? Is he your boss?”

“No, he’s just,” Pharma waves her hand again, “around. Did you miss  _ me,  _ Ratchet?”

Ratchet doesn’t have an answer for that, so she just ignores it. “Pharma, is he pressuring you? Are you being harassed? Because I saw something on youtube, and it—”

There’s a tiny shifting noise, only noticeable because the library is completely silent, and suddenly there’s a man looming behind Pharma. Ratchet can’t help flinching back a little—either the guy teleports, or Ratchet was so focused on Pharma that she didn’t notice him prowling up. He’s big, to be so light on his feet. He’s gotta be seven feet tall at least, broad shoulders and a stacked torso. He’s oddly shadowed by the flickering lights—Ratchet can’t get a good read on his face. But she can see what he’s wearing. Black leather pants, a long black fur coat, fingerless black leather gloves, black nailpolish on his slightly too-long nails, no shirt at all, and a thick golden chain hanging from his neck into his carefully groomed chest hair.

His chest is  _ glistening. _ This is definitely not allowed in a library.

The man looks Ratchet up and down, and even though she can’t see his face she can somehow  _ feel  _ his gaze lingering on her curves, the way her flannel gaps a little because it was made for someone with a flatter chest. She can feel herself flush, and she scowls at him so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

There’s the sensation of a grin, and then the man leans down to murmur in Pharma’s ear. “Is this lady bothering you, precious?”

“Oh, no, no, of course not!” Pharma doesn’t turn towards him, she’s still leaned over the desk and staring up at Ratchet. “This is  _ Ratchet.  _ You remember, I told you all about her? She’s the most brilliant information scientist in the world, or, well, one of them, I don’t want to  _ flatter  _ myself, but—”

The man chuckles. He’s not listening, Ratchet can tell. He’s just leaning over Pharma and, as Ratchet watches, one of his oversized hands cups her breast through her blouse.

Pharma doesn’t react. “Ratchet, are you still head medical librarian at Iacon U? Or did you apply for that position at the National Library? I was so excited for you when I saw the position opened—I thought about applying there myself, but I had  _ just  _ got the job here, and—”

The man’s  _ kneading  _ Pharma’s breasts with both hands now, using his thumbs to rub at her nipples through the light silk. Pharma hasn’t said anything to the man, she’s still babbling about the National Library job Ratchet’s interviewing for next week, but she’s half-risen out of her chair, arching her back so her chest pushes forward and her ass pushes back.

“I think about you all the time,” says Pharma. “I really felt like we  _ had  _ something, Ratchet, like we had a  _ future.  _ Didn’t you feel it? I know I was… demanding, and you were always  _ busy,  _ but we could have worked it out, couldn’t we?”

The man clenches his hands on Pharma’s blouse and pulls, and there go the rest of her buttons, pinging off the desk and into the dark shadows of the library. Pharma’s delicate, bruised breasts are only exposed for a moment before the man’s hands are back on her, squeezing her hard enough that Pharma breaks her spiel with a little gasp.

Ratchet feels like she’s been released from a spell. “What the fuck is going on?” she demands. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man chuckles again, and it’s like the sound is buzzing in Ratchet’s bones.

“Oh, this is Tarn, of course,” says Pharma. “But Ratchet, you haven’t answered my question.”

“What?” Ratchet watches as Tarn hooks Pharma’s chair with his foot and pulls it away so he can cradle Pharma’s ass against his groin.

“I was  _ asking,”  _ says Pharma, a hint of irritation creeping into her pretty voice, “whether you’d ever think about giving us another chance?”

Pharma’s wearing a little red miniskirt, the length just barely this side of scandalous. It crosses that line anyway when Tarn rucks it up, exposing Pharma’s ass. She’s not wearing any underwear. There’s bite marks on her ass, too.

“You want to talk about our  _ relationship?”  _ Ratchet can hear her voice cracking, but  _ seriously,  _ what the  _ fuck?  _ “While this guy is, is—”

Playing with the slick folds of Pharma’s cunt, from the sound of it. He’s got one hand on Pharma’s hip now, and the other hand is moving where Ratchet can’t see it, but that wet noise is unmistakable. Without Tarn’s hands on her breasts, Pharma’s slumped onto the desk, giving Ratchet a clear view of her ass jerking back as she tries to fuck herself on Tarn’s fingers.

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about Tarn.” Pharma’s still got her face turned up toward Ratchet, her eyes somehow even brighter than before. “I want to talk about  _ you,  _ I want, I  _ want you,  _ you have to know that I still love you, I never stopped, even when you—”

Tarn slaps Pharma’s ass hard, and her eyelids flutter as she cries out. Ratchet watches the almost translucently-pale skin of Pharma’s ass cheek redden while Tarn slowly works down the zipper of his ridiculous leather pants.

“Ratchet?”

His cock is thick and long, ten inches, maybe the full foot. He uses those big hands to hitch Pharma’s hips up and spread her ass a little, and then he plunges into Pharma’s cunt in one deep stroke, like she was already ready and open for him. Like maybe this isn’t the first time they’ve done this today.

“Ratchet!”

Tarn’s fucking Pharma fast and hard, and the sound of their skin slapping together is almost defeaning in the silence of the library. Pharma’s making these high breathy moans, just the same as she used to when Ratchet had her folded up with Ratchet’s strap buried deep inside her. Her long red nails scrabble at the desk for a moment, and then she lashes out and catches the bottom of Ratchet’s flannel, yanking it out of Ratchet’s cargo pants and using it to hold Ratchet in place.

“Do you love me?” Pharma’s glasses are hanging off one ear, and her bun is falling apart completely, leaving her blond hair tumbling down her back and sticking to her sweaty forehead. “Please, please, tell me that you love me, please!”

“Pharma—” Ratchet says, helplessly, and Pharma moans like just hearing her name in Ratchet’s mouth is as good as taking a ten inch cock. 

“Pharma, we were  _ bad _ for each other, we made each other miserable, you can’t really—” There’s another wet smack, right in the middle of Ratchet trying to explain this extremely fucking delicate situation, and Ratchet loses her temper. “Hey you, what the fuck ever your name is!” she says, “Will you stop doing that while we’re trying to have a conversation? Are you for real right now?”

“Oh yes,” the man says, not even with the good grace to be out of breath, “I’m very real.”

Ratchet glares at him. “I don’t know who you think you are—” she starts.

“I know you don’t,” Tarn purrs. “So why don’t we get better acquainted?”

“I think I’m already more acquainted than I’ve got the stomach for,” Ratchet says, eyeing his deep-rocking cock as it disappears into Pharma’s body.

“Now, don’t be ungracious. You can’t blame me for  _ taking _ her,” he rears back, “when you left her  _ unattended _ —” he punctuates the taunt with a brutal thrust into Pharma’s pussy.

Ratchet slams her palms down on the desk, on either side of Pharma, whose cheek is now flat against the wood. “She’s not an object, you son of a bitch, she doesn’t  _ belong _ to me!”

Tarn pulls out slowly, all the way out, and even in the dim light his cock glitters with Pharma’s slick. “No,” he agrees, rubbing just the tip against Pharma’s wet entrance. “She belongs to me.”

Ratchet clenches her fists on the desk, but before she can really let him have it, there’s a sharp yank on her waistband. She looks down, startled, and finds Pharma clutching her, reeling her in by the hips. Pink tongue darts out to wet smeared red lips. “And you,” Pharma says, “belong to  _ me.” _

Ratchet stares at her. For the first time in this whole surreal encounter, Pharma pulls away from Tarn, lifting herself up onto her hands and bringing her face so close to Ratchet’s that Ratchet can feel the uneven rhythm of her breaths. One hand comes up, slowly, almost shaking, and touches Ratchet’s cheek. Ratchet breaks.

“Get off, get over, back up.” She reaches over and smacks Tarn’s hands off Pharma’s skin with a hard swat. Tarn lets go without a fight or even a token protest, drawing back as Ratchet muscles him out of the way.

Pharma’s ass, one cheek still enflamed from the rough handling, wiggles in shameless anticipation. She’s just as soft under Ratchet’s hands as Ratchet remembers, pushing up into Ratchet’s palms and yielding around Ratchet’s fingers. Her body twitches frantically under Ratchet when Ratchet hooks her thumbs into Pharma and spreads her open, out of a jealous impulse to see just how wet she really is. It’s soaking, slick glinting off her labia and lips and even fingerprint shapes on her thighs.

Easy as you please, Tarn takes a seat on the edge of the desk, watching them sidelong. His improbable monster of a cock is still hard and heavy against the pants that must be leather but look more like black liquid, like oil or tar in the shape of muscular thighs. Ratchet won’t give him the satisfaction of looking outright, but she gets the impression he’s smirking. 

Christ, what a motherfucker. He thinks he’s some kind of sex god just because he’s got more dick than he knows what to do with. How does he not pass out from blood loss getting that thing hard, anyway?

Well screw him. Ratchet knows what to do with Pharma’s body better than he ever will.

“Ple-ease,” warbles Pharma. Her pussy is  _ gaping  _ from Tarn’s cock, and Ratchet fights off a wave of unreasonable jealousy as she pushes three fingers into that greedy hole. She broke up with Pharma for a reason. It’s just—it’s hard to remember what that reason is, when she’s watching Pharma’s cunt try and fail to clench at her fingers.

Pharma’s so wet and so warm, she’s burning up inside. Ratchet strokes into her slowly, savoring the softness against her calluses.

“Ratchet,” moans Pharma. It sounds like a prayer, like a benediction. Ratchet’s name always sounded good in Pharma’s mouth. During sex, anyway. Not the rest of the time, when Pharma would be needy and bitchy and demanding. But they’ve always been good at this.

Ratchet switches hands, fucking Pharma with her left hand while she circles Pharma’s clit with the dripping wet fingers of her right hand. She doesn’t actually  _ touch  _ Pharma’s clit—with the way Pharma’s already wailing, that would probably make her explode. Pharma tries to shove back against her, ankles wobbling in her red stiletto heels.

There’s a slick noise, distinct from all the other slick noises, and Ratchet can see Tarn stroking himself while he stares at them. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Ratchet should get out of here.

Instead she finally flicks her fingers over Pharma’s clit and shoves hard against Pharma’s g-spot.

“Yes!” Pharma’s hips jerk back. “Yes, yes, Ratchet, yes, take me! Own me! I’m yours, I’m yours!”

“Mine,” purrs Tarn. “Wasn’t that the agreement?”

“Yes,” says Pharma, “yes, yes, yes—”

Pharma keeps bouncing her hips up off the desk. It’s hard for Ratchet to keep her fingers in her, and the angle is awkward—she tries leaning against Pharma’s back to pin her hips down, but that just traps Ratchet’s arm and makes it hard to move. She can’t get as deep as she wants, as fast as she wants. Pharma’s still moaning, but she doesn’t sound like she’s getting close to coming.

Normally that would be fine. Ratchet would take her time, maybe tease Pharma with her mouth for a little while, see how long she could keep Pharma on the edge before tipping her over. But they have an audience.

Ratchet wants to  _ obliterate  _ Pharma.

She shoves her fingers into Pharma again and growls in frustration as Pharma bucks and her fingers slip almost all the way out, just the tips still holding Pharma open.

“Something wrong?” asks Tarn. “Need some help?”

“No,” snaps Ratchet. She abandons Pharma’s clit to push her ass back down, and Pharma makes a thick wordless groan of loss. Fuck, Ratchet needs—a bed, some restraints, a strap-on,  _ something— _

Tarn snaps his fingers. “Here, maybe you can use this.”

Ratchet turns her head and watches disbelievingly as Tarn pulls a massive strap-on and harness from his coat pocket. There’s no way it fit. Is this guy some kind of stage magician? Are they being  _ filmed?  _

The harness is black leather with silver studding, and the strap-on looks exactly the size of Tarn’s cock, like maybe he was carrying a silicone mold of his own dick in his pocket. That part seems plausible, Tarn looks like exactly that kind of asshole.

“Ratchet?” whines Pharma. “Why’d you stop?”

“If you don’t want it,” murmurs Tarn, “I can always tag back in…”

Ratchet snatches the thing out of his hand.

It hits her, as she takes off her shoes and her pants, that she’s still in the fucking library. They’re still having sex at Pharma’s  _ workplace, _ where anyone could walk in at any moment.

It’s not too late to just  _ leave. _

Pharma’s flipped over on her back, her elbows propping her up and her thighs splayed as wide as she can get them. Her heels are dangling off her feet, her hair’s a birdnest, and her mascara has streaked even worse than her lipstick, like she’d been crying from how bad she wanted it. She’s watching Ratchet through those bright blue eyes, and her left hand is absently rubbing her own clit.

She’s such a mess. Ratchet is going to ruin her for anyone else.

“Aren’t you going to take your boxers off?” asks Pharma.

Ratchet cinches the waist of the strap-on. “I’m not letting this thing touch my skin, I don’t know where it’s been.”

Pharma pouts. “Take off your shirt at least.”

“What you see is what you get.” Ratchet wipes her hands on the harness, pleased to see the shiny leather soiled with Pharma’s slick. “Do you want my dick or not?”

Pharma opens her mouth, and Tarn takes her chin and pulls her into a kiss. Ratchet can’t help but grimace. There’s spit everywhere. Tarn keeps making these possessive snarling noises. When he finally releases Pharma, her bottom lip is swollen from being bitten and sucked.

“She wants it,” says Tarn, and smiles.

“Yes,” says Pharma. Her eyes have blurred from sharp to glassy. “Yes, yes, Ratchet, put it in me, please!”

Ratchet takes a step forward. “Yeah?” She strokes her hand down the dick, then back up, stopping with her fist just below the head. “How much do you want it?”

_ “So  _ much, Ratchet, please!” Pharma uses her own hand to spread her vulva, displaying that wrecked little hole for Ratchet.

“Hmm.” Another step, and Ratchet can rest the length of the strap-on against Pharma’s pussy, the head nudging at Pharma’s clit. “You want it more than you want Tarn’s little dick?”

Pharma doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes!”

“Good girl,” breathes Ratchet, and slowly eases the thing inside her.

She shouldn’t do this without lube. Hell, she shouldn’t do it without  _ boiling  _ the thing, Tarn pulled it out of his  _ pocket. _ But it glides in smooth, and Pharma doesn’t complain. No, she moans, high and breathy like she just can’t believe something could feel this good. Ratchet finds herself circling her hips, grinding against the base of the strap-on through her boxers.

“She’s well trained,” purrs Tarn. “Takes a cock in any of her holes and just begs for more. Her ass is still stretched from this morning if you’d like to take it for a ride?”

Ratchet barely stops herself from dropping her fingers down to test out Tarn’s claims. She’s not going to give him the satisfaction. She doesn’t like the way that he talks about Pharma, and she especially doesn’t like the way it makes Pharma go oddly out of focus, like she’s not present in the moment.

She wants Pharma  _ here, _ with  _ her. _

“This hole’s fine,” Ratchet growls, and pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in again. Pharma arches off the desk, her eyes wide and fixed on Ratchet’s face.

How long has it been, two months? Maybe three? They’d broken up, Pharma had gotten her new job and moved out, and then apparently started sucking this freakshow’s dick at work. Ratchet almost feels sorry that they broke up, if this is how bad the rebound is. On the other hand, Pharma had told literally everyone they were getting engaged even when Ratchet was talking to the police about filing a restraining order. Ratchet had had to call her  _ mom  _ to set the record straight.

Pharma’s breasts are bouncing as Ratchet fucks her, and her head is tilted back, exposing her throat. It’s littered in bite marks and bruises. She’s gasping Ratchet’s name.

“You’re beautiful together,” murmurs Tarn.

Christ, Ratchet wishes he wasn’t here. She drops to her elbows, planting her face right in Pharma’s chest as she rocks deeper into Pharma’s cunt. If she just stops listening, maybe she can pretend—

There’s a weird buzzing sensation, familiar but unexpected, and then it gets abruptly stronger. Ratchet bites down on a moan as Pharma  _ screams. _ Oh fuck, oh fuck, there’s a vibrator in this thing.

Whenever she pushes the strap deep into Pharma, Ratchet can feel the vibrations through the base and it’s  _ so  _ good. She takes Pharma in short grinding thrusts, humping her clit against the strap. Pharma sounds like she might actually die. She’s got her hands buried in Ratchet’s hair, her long nails digging into Ratchet’s scalp.

Ratchet feels a hand stroke down over her spine.

She tries to jerk upright, but Pharma’s grip tightens, holding her in place. The hand slips under her flannel. It’s warm, almost hot against her bare skin.

“Don’t fret.” Tarn’s voice is thick, deep, calming. Ratchet’s shoulders relax despite herself, her cheek resting comfortably against Pharma’s small, soft breast. Her hips slow until she’s just stroking in and out of Pharma, listening to her gasp every time Ratchet bottoms out.

“Truly beautiful,” purrs Tarn. “I’m so lucky. A new eager toy to play with, and she comes with a sidekick! Two for the price of one, as it were.”

“I’m not for sale,” mumbles Ratchet. It’s hard to talk, to think. Tarn’s hand on her back is so  _ big. _

“Of course not.” Tarn’s other hand ruffles Ratchet’s hair, his fingers tangling briefly with Pharma’s. “You’ll only stay with me if you want it, that’s always the bargain. But I’ll make you want it.”

“I didn’t come here for a threesome,” says Ratchet. What did she come here for, though? It’s hard to remember. She’d been worried about Pharma. She’d thought maybe she was being taken advantage of, being used to promote some kind of sexualized ‘haunting.’ Why hadn’t she just called? Why had she come all the way here?

“Please stay with us, Ratchet,” moans Pharma. “Please stay, I love you, I  _ love  _ you.”

“I don’t—” Something squeezes around Ratchet and she gasps. She can—she can feel Pharma’s pussy clenching around her strap, she can feel the warmth and the wet slide as Pharma drips all over the desk. She shouldn’t be able to feel this.

“I can give you all of your dreams,” whispers Tarn. His fingers dip down her ass and tease at the lips of her cunt. Where the fuck did her boxers go? Ratchet opens her mouth to ask, but finds herself suckling on Pharma’s nipple instead, drawing a high whine.

“All of your deepest desires.” Tarn’s fingers are inside her now, twisting and stroking at her inner walls. The vibrations are coming in slow rolling pulses, and Ratchet fucks Pharma to the rhythm of them, like she’s no longer in control of her own body. She can feel every inch of the massive strap pushing into Pharma’s body, claiming her, claiming both of them.

“Oh, you open so perfectly for me,” says Tarn, his voice dark and promising in her ear. He’s flattened to her back, pinning her down against Pharma. His fingers are so thick inside her. “Pharma told me you would. She worships you, did you know? You should see yourself through her eyes.”

Tarn pulls his fingers out and something else pushes in, something fat and throbbing. Ratchet closes her eyes against the overwhelming sensation and when she opens them again she’s looking at  _ herself.  _ Looking at her own tangled hair falling down into her face, watching her blush struggle to overwhelm her freckles. She reaches a hand to touch the face of the Ratchet in front of her, and realizes that her hand has the slim fingers and red nails of Pharma.

“You see how perfect you are, Ratchet?” says Pharma’s voice, resonating through Ratchet’s chest. The hand pets through Ratchet’s hair tenderly, and Ratchet feels something oddly painful twist through her heart and her stomach, all her vital organs. 

“Lift her up a little, Tarn,” says Pharma. “Let her see.”

The massive shadowed figure behind Ratchet’s body pulls her upright by her waist and shoulders, displaying her. His hips are working, moving her in deep pumping thrusts that end with Ratchet’s strap even deeper inside Pharma. From this new, bizzare angle, Ratchet can watch Pharma’s other hand playing with her clit as her cunt stretches obscenely wide around the thick base of the strap. It feels so good.

“Take her shirt off,” says Pharma. Tarn carefully unbuttons the flannel and tosses it to the floor, leaving Ratchet naked except for her socks and her old gray sports bra. Ratchet feels the same internal cringe that she always feels when she looks in the mirror—the uncomfortable combination of disliking her soft rolls of fat and her stretchmarks, and knowing she’s supposed to love them.

Oh, but Pharma  _ does  _ love them. She’s hungry for them, her hand abandoning her clit just so she can pet and squeeze at Ratchet’s belly. Ratchet feels that twist of pain again and realizes it’s not hers, that this odd awful fondness, so sharp that it’s cutting her heart out, that’s how Pharma feels  _ all the time— _

Pharma reaches up to try and take Ratchet’s bra off, struggling as Ratchet’s body continues to fuck her. Tarn laughs and rips it off, the fabric shredding in his hands.

Ratchet’s abruptly back in her own body. Her breasts swing free, heavy and pendulous. Tarn is fucking her in long deep thrusts that feel like they end somewhere around Ratchet’s throat. Her breath comes fast and panicked, and her cunt feels like it’s burning, it’s horrifying and so, so good.

“What the hell is—”

_ “Oh.” _ Pharma reaches up to caress Ratchet’s wide nipples. “You’re still as gorgeous as ever. Did you see how much I want you? Does anyone else want you as much? Has anyone else touched you in the way I do?”

Ratchet opens her mouth to tell Pharma to get her hands off her and call off her pet wardrobe destroyer, but the vibrations abruptly double in intensity and Pharma is squeezing, kneading at Ratchet’s breasts, her lipstick-smeared mouth closing around one nipple and  _ biting. _ Ratchet can’t do anything but  _ feel  _ as Tarn and Pharma take her apart, turn her into another desperate mess in the middle of the library, where anyone could walk in at any—

The doors burst open. “Ratchet?” calls First Aid. “Oh my god, Ratchet!”

Ambulon’s right behind him, eyes wide and camera out. Something shakes loose in Ratchet’s head, like a cog knocked out of sync, as the familiar real-world presence of her TA and his roommate superimposes itself on the desperate hazy dream.

It dawns on her that she’s about to become the wetter and raunchier sequel to whatever the hell that first video really was.

“Turn that thing off!” yells Ratchet. “Shut that door! Get me  _ out  _ of this!”

Tarn chuckles as he continues to plow into Ratchet’s cunt. “Oh how lovely, more playthings.”

It still feels good, that’s the thing. Even though Ratchet is aware again of how  _ absurd  _ this is, it still feels good to have Pharma kissing her throat and tightening rhythmically around her strap, to have a hot, thick cock pounding into her. She could do without the big douchewad attached to said cock, but it still feels good.

That makes it even worse.

“I got, uh, I got your text message.” First Aid’s got his hand over his eyes. “That you’d figured it out and were coming over here? I sent you a message back and you didn’t respond, so Ambulon thought we should check—”

“Holy shit,” breathes Ambulon. “Aid,  _ look.”  _

Ambulon’s staring over Ratchet’s head. She turns to look, but Pharma grabs her, her palms on either side of Ratchet’s face and her fingers wrapping around the back of Ratchet’s neck.

“Don’t look away from me,” she says. Her eyes are wild, her mouth is trying to curve into a smile. “No one else matters, it’s just you and me.”

There’s an oddly sweet ache in Ratchet’s cunt, a stretching sensation like, like Tarn’s cock is  _ growing.  _ She can feel humid panting on the back of her neck. “Pharma,” Ratchet hisses, “what’s going on? Who is this guy?”

“He just wants you to feel good! He wants us all to feel good!” Pharma presses a frantic kiss to Ratchet’s forehead, her chin colliding a little painfully with the bridge of Ratchet’s nose as Tarn makes another punishing thrust. His balls are so big that they slap hard against Ratchet’s vulva in a way that’s  _ not  _ anatomically possible. 

“Exorcism!” yelps First Aid. “Come on, come on, bell, book, candle, salt, holy water—”

“I don’t believe in any of that stuff!” wails Ambulon. “I don’t believe in demons!”

“Oh, but I believe in you,” says Tarn. He lifts Ratchet off her feet, just holding her in place as he uses her as a cocksleeve, as another way to fuck Pharma into unconsciousness. The angle pushes Ratchet’s clit hard against the vibrating thing that probably isn’t really a strap-on, and she moans in sick ecstasy as she tips over into orgasm, spasming around Tarn’s cock as he continues to thrust.

“Yes!” cries Pharma. “Yes, yes, give it to me! Give her to me!”

Ambulon is mumbling prayers and ringing a little bell that looks like it fell off a cat’s collar. First Aid’s trying to light some kind of big scented candle with a book of free hotel matches. Ratchet squirms, trying to fight, but all she does is set Pharma off, writhing underneath Ratchet as she comes.

“Pharma, I believe you’re one of the best librarians I’ve ever had,” says Tarn. “You bring me not one but three victims!”

There’s a series of desperate swears, as First Aid’s shaking fingers fumble the match so hard the phosphorous head tears free.

“And these ones are so hungry, so unfulfilled…” purrs Tarn. His voice is so hot, so close, so low. Ratchet can feel the shift behind her, as he fixes his gaze on the boys. “Ambulon. You wish he looked at you the way he looks at his posters, don’t you?”

Ambulon freezes, the bell rattling to a stop. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you,” says Tarn. Fuck, his voice, there’s something about his voice, it makes Ratchet arch and try to fuck herself on his cock, as hot as if she never came at all.

“You’re roommates, you’re friends, you could be something more,” purrs Tarn. “Every night you fall asleep thinking of First Aid, his hands, the way his mouth moves, his laugh… But you know that  _ he  _ falls asleep thinking about Springer and his broad athlete’s chest, don’t you? Writing fantasies in his head about going down on his knees to worship his hero…”

“Ambulon?” First Aid turns to look at his friend, clutching the candle he’s finally managed to light. “You—I didn’t know you—”

“I can make you what he wants,” says Tarn, and suddenly Ambulon’s shirt rips as his shoulders grow, filling out to new proportions just like his newly bared chest. It’s horrific, mesmerizing. He looks down at his abs with both fear and wonder, fingertips hesitating to touch.

Tarn is fucking Ratchet to the rhythm of her own heart, fast, pounding, she can’t keep up as Pharma screams her way to another orgasm. A tremor runs through Ambulon’s fingers; firelight flickers in his glassy eyes. 

“Kiss him,” says Tarn. “Take his mouth. It’s open for you, it’s watering for you.  _ Take him.” _

Ambulon reaches out for First Aid, and First Aid, wide-eyed and, yes, mouth open, reaches back.

The lit candle drops from his hands and smashes on a scattering of papers and books that had been earlier shoved off the circulation desk.

Fire is the enemy of any library. It doesn’t matter how cautious you are, how good your suppression system is. At the end of the day, fire will burn books, and water will destroy them. And an old library like this one, with its crammed-together stacks and smoke-based fire detectors? It only takes two more thrusts of Tarn’s hips before the fire’s reached the shelves.

“Pharma,” says Ratchet, urgently. Her body is still being used to fuck them both. Ambulon and First Aid are desperately making out right next to a pile of burning magazines.

“It’s all right,” whispers Pharma. Her eyes are closed. “It’ll be all right, Ratchet, we’ll be  _ together.” _

“Pharma!” yells Ratchet. “The fucking building is going to burn down!”

Pharma opens her eyes and tips her head back to take in the scene. Then suddenly she’s scrambling off the desk, kicking off her heels as she runs to the back room. Seconds later, Ratchet hears the rattle of the sprinkler system coming on and the blast of a fire extinguisher. Whatever else has happened to Pharma, she’s still a librarian. 

Tarn still has his hands wrapped around Ratchet’s hips, pumping her back and forth like a doll.

“Such a commotion,” he says. His voice is like smoke and honey and drinking alone at four am. “You know, I was thinking just now of keeping you and the boys, but I can see that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Better to use you up and discard the husk, hmm? Let’s see how many times you can come before your heart gives out…”

His cock slides in again, as big and unstoppable as a freight train, and Ratchet seizes as she comes again. That orgasm rolls into another, and another. She chokes on her own spit, her cunt clenching so hard it hurts. Water’s pouring onto the back of her head, dripping into her eyes, but she can still feel the heat of the fire growing.

Her vision starts to dim around the edges, like she’s going into a tunnel. She’s still coming.

“Pharma will be so much easier to control once you’re gone,” murmurs Tarn. “She’ll mourn, I’m sure, but I’ll make her feel good enough that she forgets the pain. I’ll keep her and I’ll breed her, and one day, when she’s fat with the latest batch of my spawn, I’ll ask her if she remembers you. She won’t even recognize your name. ‘Ratchet?’ she’ll say. ‘Who’s that?’

“‘Oh, no one.’ I’ll say. ‘Just some whore I kill—’”

There’s a heavy thump, and Tarn drops to the ground, Ratchet falling from his grip and off his cock. The breath rushes out of her as she slams down against the circulation desk, but she clenches her jaw and forces herself to her feet.

Pharma’s standing there, chest heaving, eyes fixed on Ratchet. There’s blood dripping from the edge of the fire extinguisher in her hands.

Ratchet grabs her wrist. “Come on.”

“But,” says Pharma, her eyes darting over the disaster unfolding around them, “but the library—”

“Being alive is more important,” says Ratchet. “Come on!”

Pharma bites her lip, but then she drops the fire extinguisher and they run. The air is thick with smoke and Ratchet’s hair is plastered to her back by water. The fire is still gaining strength. They stop to pull First Aid and Ambulon up from what has progressed from making out to Ambulon sucking on First Aid’s dick like a starving man. 

“No,” moans First Aid, weakly fighting to keep Ambulon’s head in his hands. “Ratchet, Ratchet, please, I want him to, please—”

Ratchet slaps him in the face. “Then do it somewhere that’s not on fire!” 

“What?” First Aid looks around at the library like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Fire?”

“Oh god,” says Ambulon, staring over Ratchet’s shoulder. “Oh god, oh god, oh—”

Ratchet looks back at whatever’s got Ambulon face so pale and reels as she sees the tall, stretched body, the wolf’s skull and the flaming eyes, the long thick tongue dangling out of the misshapen jaw, the cock the size of her forearm. It’s still glistening with slick. Ratchet’s slick.

Tarn is getting up.

It’s Pharma who breaks the spell, catching Ratchet’s hand and yanking her to the doors. First Aid and Ambulon are right on their heels, and together they burst out into the chill of the February air.

Ratchet can still feel humid breath on the back of her neck. There’s a sensation of tugging, like someone’s trying to yank her back by her hair, and then the door slams shut behind them and it’s gone.

\---

It’s cold, the snow crunching under their feet as they scramble up the hill, away from the heat of the library. Almost all of Ratchet’s clothes are in there. Lucky she’d kept her socks on. Lucky that Tarn hadn’t decided to rip them off.

They shuffle to a stop on the top of the hill. No one’s following them. First Aid awkwardly offers Ratchet his puffy oversized jacket, so she bundles up into that and tries to ignore the fact that both the hair on her head and the hair over her cunt is freezing into little curly icicles. Ambulon’s trying to fit his new shoulders into his old peeling leather jacket. Pharma’s curled into herself, arms crossed over her chest to try and hold her shirt closed.

The library’s still burning. Smoke swirls up, making the sunset blaze a shocking orange. Ratchet can hear sirens in the distance.

“You boys drive?” asks Ratchet.

First Aid shakes his head. “Took the bus.”

“All the way out here?” Well, it’s only a couple hours out of the city, even if it feels like another world. “Come on, I parked over in the guest lot.”

They get about five yards away before Ratchet realizes Pharma isn’t following. She’s just standing there, staring at the library, clutching herself tight. Ratchet gives First Aid her keys, tells him to start the car when he gets there.

“Pharma?” Ratchet walks back to her. “Hey, let’s get out of here.”

“You ruined it,” mumbles Pharma.

“Sorry, what?”

“You ruined it!” Pharma goes from zero to sixty in three seconds flat, as usual. “I was happy, and I just wanted you to be happy with me! Why can’t you ever be happy with me?”

“You were  _ happy  _ being the fucktoy of some kind of, of,  _ demon?” _ asks Ratchet. “Shit, is that what went wrong with us?”

“Fuck off,” says Pharma, miserably. “He liked me.”

“Babe,” says Ratchet, and then has to bite her tongue. It slipped out. She falls into the rhythm of fond exasperation so easily, after five years talking Pharma down from weird episodes just like this.

Well. Maybe not  _ just  _ like this. 

“Pharma,” she starts again, “Tarn was literally planning to rape me to death. You hit him with a fire extinguisher.”

“He called you a bad name,” says Pharma, blankly. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

Oh, that’s another blast from the past. They used to get into bar fights every weekend, like a cute couple’s activity. Pharma liked to flirt with men just to get Ratchet all riled up and possessive, ready to throw hands with anyone who thought they could take Pharma for a ride. Some of the bigger guys would just sneer at the little fat butch who thought she was enough for a real woman, up until they called Ratchet a bitch or a slut and Pharma tried to gouge their eyes out with her long filed fingernails.

Ratchet hadn’t understood it, it just seemed like such a waste of time. But now that she’s felt the aching, yearning emptiness in Pharma’s heart…

No. She still doesn’t get it.

“Let’s get out of here,” she repeats.

“But my library,” says Pharma. “My job—”

“Pretty sure that’s gone,” says Ratchet. “I don’t want you staying in this town, you’ll probably end up getting eaten by a vampire or something. Come back to the city, you can stay at my place for a couple days.”

Pharma’s head snaps up. Her eyes are lit by firelight. “I can stay with you?”

“Just until you get your feet under you,” says Ratchet, firmly. “Now seriously, come on. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Pharma smiles. God, she really is pretty, even when she’s a mess. “Lead on,” she says. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

They trudge down the hill, into the visitor’s parking lot. First Aid, bless him, has already got the heater on blast.

**Author's Note:**

> (Do you want a terrible playlist? [Of course you do!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4rh3x7S08cbOdq0dF1InAd))
> 
> ShapeOfMetal has crafted this [amazing nsfw drawing of Tarn](https://twitter.com/metal_shape/status/1253872722167250944) if you need a little more demon in your life!
> 
> If you liked this fic, please let us know and/or share it on [Tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/616314345570320384/desecrate-you-neveralarch-the-transformers), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1253797181300936704) or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/106273.html)!


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